The Island Horse (4 page)

Something caught Ellie's eye. Or was it some
one
, just beyond the mess room doorway?

“Sometimes we grow potatoes — small ones — and other root vegetables. Turnips, cabbages, red beets, corn, if they're sheltered. You'll want to do some fishing, and perhaps shoot some ducks, as well.” Mrs. Chimes nodded at Ellie's father, who sipped his tea. “We have to get our flour, oats, rice and beans by schooner, when it comes!”

Suddenly Ellie glimpsed a swirl of braids. The girl pirouetted from one side of the doorway to the other. Her arms were held tight to her chest. She twirled and then was gone.

“Maybe you'll hunt seals with the men in the winter, too. You can use the oil for your lamps, you know. The extra we sell to the mainland.”

Ellie's father winked at Ellie.
Is it because he's seen the twirling girl?
Ellie worried. But no, the wink was because he'd told her about the oil only this morning, she decided.
Because he wants me to feel like this is a new adventure that we are having together.

The girl was still a secret, then, Ellie realized, pleased.

“All done, Ellie?” her father asked, rising from the table. And as Ellie got up, she now thought she saw the girl flit across the doorway again.

“Thank you for the fine breakfast, Mrs. Chimes,” her father said.

“Thank you,” Ellie echoed.

Mrs. Chimes stood at the stove, stirring the soup. “The two of you, living alone out there …” She paused. “Perhaps you might come in regularly, once a week or so, to have dinner with the other men. Two of them have their families here. There are five young children in all.”

“We'll think about doing that,” Ellie's father said agreeably. He patted Ellie's arm.

“You know, my Sarah looks to be about the same age as your Ellie — maybe a year or so older,” Mrs. Chimes said, considering.

Ellie thought,
Mrs. Chimes must be the girl's mother. Hadn't the girl brought the tray last night? Sarah. Her name is Sarah, then.

Ellie glanced toward the doorway. Nothing.

“Sarah knows every inch of this island. She was born here. She's been roaming about it ever since she could walk, ever since she could ride! It would be nice if she could show Ellie around. Perhaps show her some of her favorite secret places.” Mrs. Chimes laughed lightly.

Ellie glanced toward the doorway again.

And, yes, now there was a sideways face poking out, neck and head only. A silly face: crossed eyes, twisted mouth, tongue dangling.

Ellie almost giggled, clamping her hand over her mouth. But was Sarah making fun of her? Ellie frowned, and then the girl slipped away again behind the stairs in the hallway.

Mrs. Chimes gave the soup another stir. She smiled at Ellie and her father. “Our Sarah doesn't spend much time with the other children here. None of them are her age. She lives atop that horse of hers. Like a fairy mite, she whisks here and there, easily as you please. Never been lost or not come home, but she wanders too far.” She shook her head, but spoke lovingly. “That girl of mine, she's almost like a wild thing herself sometimes.”

A young man, Henry, came into the mess room, and it was time to go. “Ready, sir?” he asked Ellie's father.

They stepped out into the yard, Mrs. Chimes wiping her hands on her apron. Now she shaded her eyes, looked about and called, “Sarah! Come here, Sarah!” But Sarah did not appear, so Mrs. Chimes went back into the house, and Henry and Ellie's father headed to the barn to get the cart. Ellie waited, seated on the back doorstep. She listened to the wind and watched the cows snatch mouthfuls of sea grass, the sun beating down on her shoulders. She heard hammering, men shouting, a dog barking.

Ellie refused to wonder about Sarah, or what living here with a mother would be like. She ran her finger across the sand at the foot of the step as if she were floating in a boat and trailing her finger in the water.

Then,
oh!
Sarah was in front of her.

Ellie caught her breath and drew back, startled.

“Hullo again,” Sarah said, green eyes dancing. Freckles spread across her cheeks and speckled her nose. Brown braids reached almost down to her waist. She wore a floppy straw hat. Flower heads, yellow and white, were tucked into the belt of her blue dress, circling her waist.

“You look like a garden,” Ellie wanted to tell her. But Sarah said, “Are you Ellie?” studying her.

Ellie stared back, uncomfortable.
Surely she must know my name by now.
“Yes. And you're Sarah.”

The girl nodded. Her boots were dusty and scuffed. Her socks had fallen to her ankles. She flicked the ends of one braid. “You know, I've never had my hair cut,” Sarah said. “Never.”

Ellie said nothing.

“I guess I could show you where to look for crabs and lobsters. Show you the berry patches. We could hunt for gull eggs on the shore even.”

Still, Ellie said nothing. Because maybe Sarah was just wanting to show off. Proud because she knew everything about this place, and Ellie knew nothing.

“I could even take you up the flagstaff, up to the crow's nest,” Sarah offered. “You can see almost the whole island from there, on a clear day.” She swept out her arm, as if willing to share the island with her.

But Ellie shook her head, though she didn't quite know why and hadn't really made up her mind. “No,” she replied softly.

Just then Henry appeared from around the corner, driving a two-wheeled cart loaded with supplies and hitched to a small bay horse. Ellie was surprised by the sight of her father riding a sturdy little black horse with a brown mane. Her father! He had a happy grin on his face, looking slightly amazed himself.

“This is our new horse, Ellie,” he cried. “Her name is Cora, and she doesn't seem to mind that I'm riding her. Maybe she'll be a good teacher!”

Henry pulled up and said, “Hop in, Ellie,” and she climbed into the cart.

Then, suddenly remembering Sarah, Ellie turned.

Sarah had lifted her hand and was waving. “Good-bye, Ellie,” she called in a friendly voice. Ellie raised her hand and gave a polite wave in return, and suddenly imagined looking for berry patches, for crabs and lobsters, for gull eggs. Maybe climbing to the top of the Main Station flagstaff. Should she agree, after all?

But Sarah sang out cheerfully again, “'Bye, Ellie,” and off she ran, her braids flying, her dress billowing out, her arms wide like a seabird's.

Chapter Seven

“Gee-up!” clucked Henry. The little horse stepped forward with a shake of its head.

They left the yard and buildings, moving past a woman washing clothes in the sunlight, bending and scrubbing. Ellie watched as she dried her hands on her apron, reached down into a basket and lifted out a baby. The woman jiggled him, kissed him, plopped him back down into his nest and then returned to her work, singing.

Past the cattle. Past the flagstaff with its crow's nest, high on the hill. “We signal to ships from up there,” Henry explained.

Past men, Islanders and sailors, continuing to unload provisions from the supply ship and carting them up to the Main Station.

“Food, clothing. Other things for the shipwrecked,” Henry noted. “Also, building materials, new shingles — the wind is so hard on the wood! — tools, medicine, more garden seed.” Ellie counted three sheep, four teakettles, two lanterns.

On they went, past the one-railed fence that tamed some of the grassy pasture beyond the station. Past the small boy swinging from the rail, his feet dangling.

And the sea was there, blue, blue. It pounded on the shore, like a drum, steady and constant. And the sky was there, blue, blue. And the wind, a painter brushing white foaming lines on the waves.

They journeyed slowly alongside the sea, along the hard-packed sand on the beach. The wind blew in from the water. It blew down from the high dunes that lined the shore. The sand lifted and swirled around Ellie, blowing into her hair, her mouth, her eyes.

Henry reached into his pocket. He passed her a handkerchief. “You might use this. For the sand. 'Til you're used to it.”

Ellie held it to her mouth. She wanted to close her eyes, but her gaze was caught by the stretch of beach ribboning out in both directions, the sandy hills with their sprinkling of grass. She watched the gulls soaring, the sparrows flitting in the grasses atop the dunes. The bones of a whale, long beached. The driftwood. The timbers of a wrecked ship. “Cast ashore last night,” Henry told her. “You never know what you're going to find here!”

They rode on, the wheels turning slowly in the sand. Henry and Ellie in the cart, Ellie's father staying close on his horse.

They stopped to share a jar of water, and then Henry waved Ellie's father to lead, following the dip in the trail. They traveled inland some. And as the sun continued to climb, Ellie realized she was being watched. Someone, something, was there behind her —
is it Sarah?
She turned quickly, and that's when she saw the wild horses.

A herd of six horses, moving across the far dune, knee-deep in tall grass.

Two mares, each with a long-legged, knobby-kneed newborn at her side, whisking its mop-top tail. One yearling, prancing behind, ears tipped forward, nickering. The stallion coming last, pausing.

Ellie did not want to be here on Sable Island. But her heart filled with wonder, and she stared at him, the stallion. He, lifting his head, smelling the air, curious, watched her.

The stallion stood, his mane lifting in the wind, his nostrils blowing out, tossing his head. The cart, with Ellie in it, continued on. And still the wild horse watched her. And she watched him, until he was small, smaller, and she could not see him anymore.

Time stood still.
Maybe it will be all right here after all,
Ellie thought.

But then Henry called out, “There it is! The station. Your new home, Ellie.”

They drew near, and Ellie saw that it was not anything like a home. It was nothing to do with her. It was a clapboard house with sand piled up the side. It had one chimney, a rain barrel near the back steps and an outhouse some ways distant. There was a barn, a pump and a flagstaff. A surfboat with oars, for rescuing, was overturned near the beach.

This station was not on a hill. It was not between the village and the headstone of her mother. It was nowhere near Lizzie, her best friend. They might live here, she and her father, but it would only be Station Two. It would never be her home.

Henry helped them unload by the steps of the house. “Here are some stores of food. A selection from Mrs. Chimes, just to tide you over. There's a milk cow in the barn. There are some chickens already here, five or six, I think. When you're settled, you'll have to come to Main Station and get more provisions,” he suggested.

Then he said farewell and was gone.

Ellie carried Cora's saddle and bridle into the barn and milked the cow, while her father watered the horse and then put her in her stall. There was a fenced yard alongside the barn with a coop, and chickens inside. Ellie and her father released their fluttery, rattled chickens from the wooden crate into this yard. Ellie scattered grain from a sack into the enclosure for them. Nearby was a grassy area marked off by a driftwood fence.

“For the cow,” her father guessed.

The sun was high now, midday. Ellie's father pointed seaward. A wall of black clouds moved across the water toward them. The wind was picking up. “We'd better hurry and get our things inside,” he said.

When they stepped through the door, they were directly in the kitchen.

Ellie's father grunted, setting down their trunk with a thud. Sand sifted out of its joints. Ellie set down two baskets. And then she stared. Not because the room was bare and clean, with one side table under the window, several basins and buckets and a tall wooden hutch. Not because there was a large wooden kitchen table, scrubbed and glistening, with four ladder-back chairs. But because on the table was a milk pitcher, blue like the sea and the sky. And in it were three green bowing stems with flowers atop.

One boasted quiet pink petals, lined lightly in white. The other two waved vivid splashes of more-than-purple.

Ellie's father straightened up when he saw them. “Orchids!” He stared. “They're beautiful, your mother's favorite flower. And these two — they're her favorite color!”

“Magenta,” said Ellie.

She and her mother. Looking at more-than-purple cloth in the village store. Her mother stroking it, smitten. “It has its own name: magenta.”

She and her mother returning to look at it. Just to look. It is too expensive, and her mother doesn't need it. And yet, they come to look at it twice before it's sold to someone else. “Perhaps to be made into a fancy dress,” her mother says, imagining it, pleased. “For a party, or a ball!”

Now Ellie's father stood in the doorway and looked at the orchids. And Ellie, remembering, looked, too.